


The Key to Love is the Square Root of Two

by makkuru



Category: THE iDOLM@STER: SideM
Genre: F/M, POV Third Person, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkuru/pseuds/makkuru
Summary: A collection of Michio/女性P drabbles.
Relationships: Hazama Michio/(Female) Producer, Hazama Michio/Reader
Kudos: 2





	1. The Formula to a Perfect Morning

As the sun quickly rose over the horizon, warm sunlight beamed through the gaps in the blinds directly onto the still-sleeping figure in bed. Squinting open dull lilac eyes, Michio let out a groan as he turned to face the bedside clock. 7:10 A.M. it read. Much earlier than he was expecting it to be.

As he contemplated a few more moments of rest, there was an instinctive feeling that something was missing. He reached forward, expecting his tired arm to embrace another. Opening his eyes once more, he could see that the right side of the bed was empty.

Sitting up, he reached for his glasses while blinking the sleep from his eyes. Half of the comforter was lying haphazardly across the sheets, and there was no longer an indention in the mattress where she normally slept. He knitted his brows, wondering how she managed to awake before him. Even on her best days, she’d reluctantly pull herself out of bed just in time to fulfill her morning routine and head out for the office. Though puzzled, Michio’s attention was quickly derailed by the sound of a spatula scraping against an iron pan, and suddenly, his senses became overwhelmed by a smell wafting from the kitchen.

Sliding out of bed, he walked towards the agape door, peaking through the crack she left. From the bedroom, he could see her standing in front of the stove, his pink apron layered over the long dress shirt of his she had stolen the night before, the sleeves having been rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was messy and left uncombed, yet each strand seemed to have fallen in just the right place, framing her face in a way that extenuated the delicate curve of her jaw. Soft, sleepy eyes were transfixed on the task at hand: breakfast.

Quietly, he made his way from their bedroom over to her. He lifted himself on his toes slightly to get a better look over her shoulder. He had deduced that she was making omelettes. Gooey cheese ran from the edges and stuck itself to the pan, crisping into a light brown color and filling the kitchen with the scent of gruyère. Carefully, she gave it a flip and immediately flipped it over once again, furrowing her brows in dissatisfaction with the results. It was obvious that she was not using a timer; she relied on a flawed instinct that she simply hoped would tell her just how long she needed to keep it cooking. It was rushed and imperfect and a little messy, just as she always was, but it was also filled with so much love. He was entranced by her every movement and watched as she gently rocked on her heels, twirling the spatula once and then twice in her impatience.

She turned her attention to the cutting board on the counter beside her, prepping the ingredients for another omelette while the first one continued to cook. As Michio took a step towards her, she perked up at the squeak of the wood flooring behind her. “Ah, Michio-san, good morning," she greeted him, tiredness still evident in her voice. "Did you just wake up?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” was his simple response. The early-morning case of drowsiness made him bold, no hesitation evident as he wrapped his arms around her waist and gently pulled her back to his chest. He rested his head against the side of hers, watching her cooking between droopy eyes that could barely stay open.

She let out a small sigh as she allowed her head to lean against his, her hands still well at work preparing the food in front of her. She pressed on it with the spatula and a line of steam lifted from the pan. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head, which to her felt as if he were nuzzling himself closer, “Not at all. I just so happened to wake up. Perhaps something in me realized you were gone.” He lazily pressed his lips to her neck, and her shoulders slightly raised in reaction.

"Well, I wanted to surprise you, but it seems you caught me in the act," she sheepishly chuckled.

"Producer..." he stepped beside her, one arm resting on her waist. "I would say I'm still quite a lucky man in this scenario," he retorted, watching as her face flushed pink.

The two stood together for a moment, taking in the sounds of the city below their apartment slowly come to life once again as well as the quiet buzz of the kitchen appliances around them. He gently pressed his lips to the top of her head, murmuring, “I hope I have many more of these mornings to look forward to for a very long time.”


	2. Vices

His oddities often left those he met bewildered. Particularly, it was his obsession with mathematics; how he could recite pi into the hundreds or talk one’s ear off about angles and slopes floored anyone who would willingly listen. His expansive general knowledge on both the mundane and completely outlandish topics was something to be challenged.

Despite this, he was not spared the vices of the male sex, and the ways he went about expressing his desires drawn out by (previously assumed to be non-existent) libido was perplexing. It was not often she would find him in such rare form, and one would assume that he was simply apathetic towards the subject altogether—that it was out of character for someone like him to experience lust. However, her attempts at unraveling some conspiracy consistently fell flat. His typical composure was no correlation, which left one explanation:

She had decided that, above all else, Hazama Michio was, in fact, a man, just like any other.

What had also bemused her was how tactful he was in his attempts to initiate things between his producer and himself. The hints were overall quite subtle in his longing gaze that seemed to follow her relentlessly around the office and in needy yet inconspicuous touches. If she stopped to present to him paperwork or a script or a potential job opportunity, she would feign ignorance towards the hand that rested just a bit too low on her waist. He was never one for PDA; however, there were times he was pleased to take the risk.

Yet, their conversations flowed like normal until the evening, when activity in the office came to a lull, and he finally asked, “Producer, are you spending the night?” which she could tell was less a question and more so a plea.

“Of course,” she appeased with a smile that gave no hints of nervousness or how loudly she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. At this point in their relationship, the two were basically living together, and there hadn’t been any indication that she was wanting to return to her own apartment anytime soon, yet she was compelled to make him feel assured that his efforts weren’t in vain.

He had suggested, “Let’s stop somewhere for dinner. It’ll be your choice,” knowing as long as they were away from the apartment, he could hold off. Behind closed doors, there wasn’t any guarantee he would have much patience.

And, again, she chose to play it naive even though she knew every moment was so meticulously calculated by him alone. Planning had begun the moment he felt itchy for action. She had a vague idea from the time she had gotten out of bed, when she saw how he had strategically put away her laundry the night before and found her best lingerie at the top of the stack. (As brilliant as she wanted to admit it was, she also knew that meant he remembered the embarrassment she faced after their first time together and how unprepared she was. Afterwards, she was cursing herself under her breath for having been wearing just a cheap bra and underwear when she had been caught in the heat of the moment. A shame. At least he could save her from such worry in the future, but she also knew all things light, lacy, and revealing on her were enough to excite him.)

Just to be sure, she had checked the nightstand on his side of the bed. It also seemed that a brand new box of condoms just appeared in his drawer overnight.

Perhaps she had gotten use to him invariably thinking in terms of what was deemed “logical”, but such methodical rational for instigating sex? It was an impressive feat for Michio. She could practically hear him say, "ふむ. I calculated a 98.7% success rate with this method." How is it possible to be both puzzling yet so transparent all at once?

And when they had finally arrived at his apartment, they fumbled around in the dark momentarily, removing their coats and setting their belongings down on the couch in the living room in quiet agreement, neither wanting to turn on the light for fear of ruining the ambiance.

Without haste, he approached her from behind, hands resting on the small of her waist and pulling her to him. She could feel his chest rise and fall on her back, each breath becoming deeper as anticipation grew. 

Having been a fairly humid day, she was immediately concerned if she smelled like sweat; though, if she did, it hadn’t mattered to him, as he was already kissing what little was exposed of her neck, drawing out a soft moan. “I had been waiting all day,” his voice buzzed against her skin flushed a bright pink. She swallowed hard, feeling one of his hands slide up the front of her shirt, raising it slightly above her navel and letting his fingers give a light squeeze to the soft skin underneath.  Though he had been fairly transparent, there was something so overwhelming hearing him state the obvious.

He eventually pulled away, taking her hand and leading her towards the bedroom. Silently, the door closed behind them.


End file.
